My ordinariness is something that I’m constantly trying to overcome. It’s always been part of me, being so mundane. You’d look at me in the streets and I’d never call your attention except by how unattractive I am.
There’s nothing about the story of my life that hooks people’s attentions. There’s absolutely no charm I can use for propelling purposes. I’m not a prodigy, I am not a poor boy who’s trying to turn his table of fortune. I have never won prizes and medals and trophies and I’m not an orphaned boy and I haven’t been bullied extensively in school. Certainly I don’t have a life experience to be admired by practically anyone. I’d be somewhere right now if I had.
So why would anyone ever pay attention to whatever I have to say? It’s not like I know anything about real life. It’s not like I know anything about pain and struggle, about sex and love, about art and poetry, about philosophical and even scientific accomplishments real people are doing. These are human endeavours that must be left for men and women elsewhere to engage, not insignificant beings like me.
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